Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 148, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 900 & 901, September/October 2016

“But you didn’t make a fuss at the time.”

“No. I knew the investigating officer had noticed skid marks on the road, though there was no telling how old they were, and I also knew that there was no way they’d trace them to a particular car or driver even if they tried. Hitand-run drivers are notoriously hard to track down unless they give themselves up, become consumed by guilt and can’t live with what they’ve done. That didn’t happen in Nick’s case. And, as far as I know, nobody had any reason to kill Nick, so I wasn’t especially suspicious that it had been deliberate.”

“What if someone did have a motive?”

Mandy raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just speculating here, but did your husband ever say anything about Max Belling and money laundering, or anything like that?”

“Good lord, no. What are you suggesting?”

“Just something I picked up.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would say that. If you asked me, I’d say Max was as honest as the day is long. He was a moral man, which I often think is quite rare in this day and age.”

“But you didn’t know him really well, did you? And religion... well, I’ve known plenty of people who pretend to be good Christians in my time.”

“That’s true. And I’ve been wrong about people before. But...” She shook her head. “And no, we didn’t socialise, didn’t have dinners together or anything, though we did have the occasional drink, and not in the Hope and Anchor. I’m sorry, I just can’t see it. Not Max.”

“That’s all right,” said Banks. “I’m interested in what you think, not in confirming my theories or previous opinions.”

“I sometimes thought...” said Mandy.

“Yes?”

“It’s nothing, really. Just another vague impression about Fortford.”

“Even so. When you get enough of them, they don’t seem so vague anymore.”

She paused and bit on her lower lip, then poured a little more tea into their cups. “Well, there was a teenage suicide in the village while Nick was working the beat. A girl called Becky Harris. She was the daughter of George and Doreen Harris, cronies of Dr. Cruickshank.”

“How long ago was all this?”

“About two years.”

“Was this suicide suspicious?”

“Not at all. Open and shut. The girl took an overdose of her mother’s sleeping pills. Choked on her own vomit. It was a real tragedy. The parents were gutted. They split up not long after, and Doreen moved away.”

“What was it that struck you as odd about this? Sadly, teenage suicides aren’t uncommon, even in isolated villages.”

“Yes, I know that. But there was a man involved, too. At least, Nick mentioned him along with Becky once or twice. Apparently they were friendly. Nick said if it wasn’t politically incorrect these days he’d have been called the village idiot. He was a bit slow, that’s all, but he could take care of himself, like. Feed himself and so forth. I saw him around the village a few times. He seemed harmless enough to me. Some of the local kids used to make fun of him.”

“Children can be very cruel. What happened to him?”

“He moved away.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Tony. Tony Platt.”

“Parents?”

“God knows. He lived alone. There must have been someone who knew him, though, because that’s what got Nick interested.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone turned up in the village — at the Hope and Anchor — asking after him.”

“When was this?”

“Maybe seven months or so ago. Not long before Nick had his accident.”

“How old was the Platt boy?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I got the impression he was in his late twenties.”

“Did he have a job?”

“Not that I know of. He was strong, though, and he did odd jobs for the farmers. Manual labour. He wasn’t much good at thinking for himself, but he could follow instructions well enough.”

“What was the connection between Becky and Tony?”

“I don’t know, really, except they were friends. This Platt fellow liked to play with the village kids — the ones who didn’t torment him — and they liked him. Maybe because he was about the same mental age as them. They probably understood one another. But their parents didn’t like it.”

“Did Max Belling have anything to do with any of these people?”

“Not as far as I know. Though he was a close friend of George and Doreen’s, so he must have known Becky. He was certainly devastated by her suicide.”

Banks made a note of a few names and dates, then he thanked Mandy Vauxhall for her time and left. As he walked to his car, he cast his eye on the menu outside The Board and decided to nip in for a giant Yorkshire pudding filled with roast beef and gravy. It was a hot day and the outside benches were all full, but he managed to find a corner table inside easily enough. His mind was still spinning with some of the things Mandy Vauxhall had told him, so he could make a few phone calls and jot down a few ideas as he ate.